Exceeding Expectations
by Michelle Black a.k.a Elle
Summary: A marriage law fic. Watch as all your favorite characters get paired up with the most unlikely people.. *evil laugh*
1. What!

**Disclaimer****: I do not own the Harry Potter books.**

_**Hi everyone, I'm back!!! (Pam: It's not as if you left. Me: Shut UP!). Anyway, I decided to write a Marriage Law fic; I've read quite a few and they seem really interesting. I'm just hoping mine will be original enough, to set it apart.**_

_**However, there are several things you should know before I begin this epic tale (Pam: -snort- Me: -glare-). It's completely AU. What do I mean by that? Thank you for asking, dear readers. What that means is that, from the fifth book on, no character who died in canon was killed in my story . . . except for Dumbledore. The Minister of Magic is Rufus Scrimgeour and the Headmaster – or should I say Headmistress – is McGonagall. And that's about it . . . oh! Plus, the war isn't over. It's close, but not over yet; Harry has greatly weakened Voldemort so Mr. Poopiehead (my little sister insists on calling him that -snicker-) is in hiding. And another thing, I'm going to be focusing on mostly "happy couples" . . . or maybe not. There are quite a lot of people. -shrug- We'll see. Now, ON WITH THE SHOW!!!**_

**Chapter 1****: WHAT?!**

It was a perfect day at Hogwarts School of Witchraft and Wizardry. The sun shone brightly in a periwinkle-blue sky; a brisk breeze whistled around the stone walls of the castle, capturing loose leaves and petals to capture them into her entrancing dance. Even the Black Lake sparkled invitingly as the giant squid propelled its' way across, waving tentacles invitingly toward the Great Hall.

Students gazed longingly out of the mullioned windows, quickly gathering pieces of toast or egg to take out and enjoy this enchanting morning. But, alas, it wasn't to be. . . .

An earsplitting scream echoed through the Great Hall, in a pitch so high it was a wonder that the windows hadn't shattered. Wands were instantly drawn out, eyes darting toward the door for whatever intruder may have been the cause of the scream. Then, very, very slowly all eyes turned toward the Gryffindor table where Hermione Granger sat, eyes wide with shock, one hand gripping the table, the other, white-knuckled, held a crumpled paper in its' grasp.

"Merlin, Hermione! What the bloody hell was that?" one of her best friends, Ron Weasley, demanded, looking peeved. Hermione's mouth opened, closed again, and opened once more; choking on any words she had been about to say, she wordlessly handed the paper to both him and a dark-haired wizard sitting opposite.

_**MINISTER OF MAGIC IMPOSES NEW LAW**_

_**By Amelia Amour**_

_Newly-appointed Minister of Magic, Rufus Scimgeour, has just imposed a new law – passed by the Wizengamot in a unanimous vote – reawakening the Marriage Act of 1759. The Marriage Act states that every witch and wizard seventeen and older must marry within the year. This act was first created in order to quickly repopulate witches and wizards after the violent acts of religious persecution by ignorant Muggles. Minister Scrimgeour now feels that, with the many deaths caused by the Second War, pureblood witches and wizards are dwindling and are in danger of disappearing altogether. In answer to outraged half-blood and Muggleborn magic folk, he answered, "I know it seems unreasonable now, but you'll see; it really is for the best. You'll be thanking me in ten years when the wizarding world has reached its' full potential. You'll see." It is unsure whether the Minister's words will truly come to fruition; his dissenters have certainly not been assuaged._

_Those unmarried who are seventeen or older will be receiving letters at nine AM this morning, stating who their spouse shall be and further details on their courtship. In selecting spouses, a special Goblet of Fire-like system will be used in order to find the best candidate for you. By special permission of Minister Scrimgeour, the details of the Marriage Act will be briefly outlined in this article._

_1.) Witches and wizards seventeen or older must be married within the year._

_The couple must have at least one child within three years._

_3.) There is no limit on the number of offspring the couple may have._

_As Minister Scimgeour said in an interview with this intrepid reporter, "Remember, for all intents and purposes, we are trying to begin our world again. This new generation of young people will be our future."_

"Holy _shit_!" the dark-haired wizard – whose named happened to be Harry Potter, the famous Boy-Who-Lived – cursed. Ron's mouth was hanging open, his loaded breakfast plate forgotten as drool dripped from the corner of his mouth.

Hermione, meanwhile, didn't bother to scold either of her friends for their uncouth reactions. She was still deathly silent, shuddering visibly as other seventh years received and read the front-page headline and subsequent article.

"_Noooo!!!_"

"This is . . . it's _outrageous_!"

"What is this – pedophilia?!"

"I'm too _young_!"

Hermione made a frightened-sounding noise. "No, no." She shook her head, hands shaking. "No, this . . . this isn't p-pos-" But she was cut off by the synchronized flapping of wings as owls swooped through the open windows, that same inviting breeze floating through, dropping letters – emblazoned with the Ministry's insignia – onto every seventeen-year-old's plate.

Cries of misery and yells of triumph – maybe a certain wizard was now engaged to his crush – as each of the "eligibles" opened their letters.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged looks over the table and, with a deep breath, they each reached for their own white slips of parchment, a simple piece of parchment that would change their life. Forever.

_Well, here goes nothing. . . ._

_**Love it? Hate it? Tell me what you think, all you have to do is click the little rectangular button. I will post the next chapter if I get at least ten reviews. So, if you want to know who gets who.. Review!!**_


	2. Harry

_**Wow,Chapter 2 already? Pamela: You hear that too much in fanfiction, say something different. Me: -glare- If I want to say it, I'll say it! Pamela: Whatever you say. . . . Me: -huff- Anyways I want to thank **_kittenonabroomstick _**for her review. I thought it was really sweet of you to take a moment of your sleep to write me a review. It literally made my hear melt. Thank you! And I also want to thank all my reviewers for reviewing. You're the best!**_

**Chapter 2****: Harry**

Harry Potter was scared.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, who had fought – and won – against Voldemort not once, but _seven _times, was scared of a letter. However, as he heard the tearing-open of parchment and subsequent screams of horror, he found himself more terrified than he had ever been in his life.

For all intents and purposes, this simple, folded piece of parchment in his shaking hand held his future in its' script. By order of the Ministry, he would have to run off and get married to some stranger – or worse, some Slytherin. The very idea of marrying a member of that slime was repulsive enough, but to actually have _children _with them? Oh, Merlin help him! Nothing Voldemort had ever thrown at him could be as frightening as this. And, to think, this had all started out as a perfectly normal day; he had been planning to go out on his Firebolt and practice some Quidditch moves, maybe even try a Wronski Feint. But now . . . his hand shook as he held the letter.

_Get a grip, Potter! _His subconscious mind shouted at him. _Use that Gryffindor courage – open the damn letter! _With a deep breath, Harry unsealed the envelope, drawing the piece of official-looking parchment from it. Rapidly, his green eyes scanned the letter, looking for the most important piece of information.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_First, I must offer my heartfelt congratulations to you for being one of the eligibles to participate in the Marriage Act! The wizarding world's continuation is absolutely dependent upon yourself and your peers._

_In more pertinence, after some testing based on your personality and tastes, the Ministry has decided that your best potential partner is Miss Pansy Parkinson from Slytherin House._

_Remember, you should be married within the year and have at least one child within three years. Thank you for your cooperation and, once again, congratulations on your imminent engagement._

_Yours Most Sincerely,_

_AnnaMaria Regan_

_Head of the Department for the Re-Development of the Wizarding World_

"Harry? Harry, mate, you alright? You look a bit green there." Opposite him, his redheaded friend peered concernedly into his face.

Just as silent as Hermione, Harry handed his own letter to his best mate. Ron's eyes widened with each word until Harry thought they might just pop out of their sockets.

_That would be interesting to see, _he thought vaguely.

"Bloody _hell_," Ron's fervent whisper snapped Harry from his reverie. "I'm _so _sorry, mate." In seven years, Harry had never heard Ron sound quite so sincere. If possible, it scared him even more than the letter had.

However, despite his feelings, he couldn't speak. He felt that if he did he would either start screaming or vomit. Or both.

"Where you going, Harry?" Neville Longbottom turned to face Harry looking, unlike the rest of the table, as though Christmas had come early.

_Lucky bloke, bet he got what he wanted, _Harry thought bitterly.

"Hospital Wing," he barely was able to croak out before making a mad dash for the doors. In lieu of throwing himself off the nearest cliff that seemed to be a good second option. After all, Madam Pomfrey would probably let him hide there for a few days . . . and the small matter of a certain Dark Lord needing to be defeated.

What Harry didn't know was that he was fleeing from an impending disaster zone. Barely moments after he had reached the top of the marble staircase, the Great Hall exploded. Or, at least, it seemed to. Students turned in their chairs, once again searching for the catalyst of the noise while diminutive Professor Flitwick fell off his own chair. Professor Trelawney, for once seated, at the teachers' table took it as a sound of impending doom. Perhaps she was right; at least, doom for the certain fiance of a certain Pansy Parkinson. For, indeed, it was she who had made the noise and she who was feeling less than romantic toward her husband-to-be.

"I'M MARRYING SAINT POTTER?!" she shrieked.

_**Well what do you think? Ya'll know the drill, at least ten or more. Review!**_


	3. Ron & Ginny

_**Chapter 3! Sorry that my friend Pamela couldn't comment,but she'll probably comment in the next chapter. -smirks knowingly- anyways, I want to thank all my reviewers and a special shout out to **_kittenonabroomstick. ** Sorry,hon,but if you want chapters more quickly, they have to be short,but don't worry, future chapters won't be that short. It's just these because I'm introducing the characters and their "spouses". I'm so glad that you like my story and don't worry it'll be a LONG while before I end this story. I understood your message even though there were some mistakes. Lol. Where are you from?**

_**Special thanks to my Beta **_**Lizzy Lovegood,**_** who is also a dearest friend of mines, you should check out her stories they're really good.**_

**Chapter 3: Ron & Ginny**

Moments after Pansy stormed out of the Great Hall, her very form nearly emanating steam in her fury, students began whispering madly amongst themselves at this bizarre, latest turn of events.

"Pansy Parkinson and _Harry Potter –_ together?!"

"That's mad. . . ."

"They were _meant _to be together?"

"Poor Ginny."

Hermione studied the doors, half-expecting Pansy to come back in, the dark-haired boy's corpse in tow. She still had not touched her own letter. Ron, meanwhile, had already finished his second plate and was busy piling his plate with still more food.

"Her-my-nee. Re-ax, he'll be fi-e," he reassured, patting her shoulder as he spoke through a mouthful of kipper and sausage. Swallowing with some difficulty, he added, gesturing to her letter, "Aren't you gonna open it?"

Hermione glanced down at her letter, eyes dead, before shaking her head vigorously, brown curls bouncing in fright.

"No, not now. When I'm in my dormitory, I will. More – more privacy. What about you?"

Shrugging, Ron handed Hermione his own unopened envelope. Smiling gently at her friend, the brunette witch pulled out the fateful piece of parchment; the redhead boy noticed that, as she read it, her eyes widened, tears threatening to spill over.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned but, once again, Hermione said nothing, muttering something about going to the library as she shoved the letter into his hands. Ron took a long draft of pumpkin juice as he read the letter himself . . . and nearly choked.

_Your best potential partner is Miss Padma Patil. . . ._

Ron craned his head to search the Ravenclaw table and spotted her almost immediately – after all, she was the twin of Parvati, from Gryffindor – talking to one of her friends. As if sensing his eyes on her, she turned his way, her dark hair making a veil across her face; he smiled hesitantly and she returned with a blush and a small smile of her own before quickly ducking away once more.

_Wow, she's really pretty. Why haven't I noticed before? _Ron leaned back in his seat, studying the pretty Asian girl. It was a bit ironic, he mused to himself. He had taken her to the Yule Ball, after all, but that had been more out of desperation for a date than anything. Plus, if he remembered correctly, he hadn't treated her too well at all.

But now, looking at her as his fiancee. . . .

"Ginny? Ginny, you alright?" He was torn away from his musings by his sister's name, spoken by a worried Neville. Turning his head so fast he thought he might get whiplash, he saw his sister, pale-faced and hyperventilating.

Ron scooted towards her, wrapping a protective arm around her.

"Gin, you alright?" he asked. Just as with Hermione, she shook her head quickly, eyes closed, attempting to calm herself down. Several deep, rattling breaths later, she had managed to calm down somewhat.

"What's _wrong_?" Ron could have screamed in frustration.

"I'm en-engaged to . . . to Theodore N-Nott," Ginny whispered, brown eyes bright with unshed tears. The girl next to her – Hazel, Ron recalled – squeezed her hand.

"It's alright. . . . I mean, I know he's an asshole, but it might turn out for the best," Hazel soothed, pushing blond bangs away from her eyes. Ginny, eyes closed, just shook her head, placing it instead on her brother's shoulder.

"I am _so _screwed," she whispered fearfully. From the other side of the Hall, both siblings watched the Slytherin boy read his own letter, his expression stony.

_**Poor Ginny. Well tell me what ya'll think. Review!!**_


	4. Blaise

_**Hehe. This one is one of my favorites. Pam: DONT READ IT!! Me: ignore the crazy Bronzette in the background. Pam: NO!! If you want to live DONT READ!! Me: She's just upset because she shows up in my story. Pam: I. Hate. You. Me: -smile sweetly- love you too. Anyways, I want to thank everyone for reviewing last chapter and a shout out to **_kittenonabroomstick:** Yeah, I know Ron and a ravenclaw is laughable and I will certainly try to make their pairing as funny as the other ones. But just to warn you,I'm not very fond of Ron, so sometimes you will see that I don't make him funny enough and more of a pain in the ass than Draco Malfoy. So sorry,but it's me,being prejudice because if it weren't for him Harry would have been friends with Draco and idk, but I have to admit Draco takes some of the blame too. You are sooo sweet. You don't HAVE to send a review in the middle of the night, you could do it in the morning. All you have to do, is NOT read my story until the morning and your done! Lol That is soo cool, What's it like living in Germany? I miss the snow, now I live in hot humid Florida. Yuck!**

**Chapter 4: Blaise**

Anglia Nott studied her older brother concernedly. She had never seen him look like this before – this odd amalgamation of anger and fear shining through his dark eyes. "Theo, what's wrong?" she asked.

For a moment, it looked as if he wasn't going to answer her. His eyes narrowed and his hand, clutching the piece of parchment, shook visibly. He looked nearly incandescent with rage. "Ginny Weasley," he was barely able to spit out before stalking out of the Great Hall.

Blaise Zabini, who had watched the entire exchange with some curiosity, turned to her questioningly.

She shrugged, looking helpless. "I'm guessing he just got Ginny Weasley as his fiancee. Anyway, I'm gonna go see if he's okay. Talk to you later." With a wave and a parting smile she, too, left the Hall.

The Slytherin boy watched her leave, a small smirk playing around his lips. True, he felt bad for Theodore, but he was still a Slytherin and, for once, he had gotten the better end of the stick. He reread his letter for the fifth time in as many minutes, his smile widening at every word.

_Dear Mr. Zabini,_

_Congratulations on being one of the many eligibles to participate in the Marriage Act! The continued existence of our world is completely dependent upon yourself and your peers._

_In more immediate matters, after doing some testing the Ministry has determined that your best potential partner is Miss Pamela Palasios, from Ravenclaw House._

_Remember, you should be married within the year and have had at least one child within three years. Thank you for your cooperation and once again, congratulations on your imminent engagement._

_Yours Most Sincerely,_

_AnnaMaria Regan_

_Head of the Department for the Re-Development of the Wizarding World_

Eyes bright, Blaise began scanning the Ravenclaw table for his wife-to-be. And . . . there she was, in a heated conversation with her best friend, her normally bright blue eyes now dark and stormy. Either way, though, she looked absolutely beautiful. . . .

"Any luck, mate?" Blaise's fantasies were interrupted by the voice of his own best friend, Draco Malfoy. Blaise turned to look at him, still slightly dazed.

"Huh?" he asked coherently.

"Who did you get?"

"Oh." Confusion left his face, to be replaced quickly by triumph. "Nothing special, just Palasios."

"_Palasios?_" Draco repeated, incredulous. "Merlin, that girl's been rejecting you since bloody first year. Lucky bloke." For once, the wealthy pureblood looked impressed.

"Don't I know it." Blaise's chest puffed up with pride. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to say hi to my soon-to-be wife." Standing up, the Slytherin strolled confidently towards the Ravenclaw table where, even now, he could hear snippets of conversation.

"I can't believe it – I got _Zabini_?! Ugh, this is all _your _fault!" Pamela shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at her friend.

"How is it _my _fault?" her friend exclaimed, looking stunned. "I didn't even _do _anything!" She was endeavoring not to sound too angry; when Pamela was like this she could be a bit . . . crazy, to say the least.

"Yes, you did." Pamela nodded vigorously. "You totally did. You pissed off Karma who got mad at you and told her sister, Fate, to mess with me, since _I'm _your best friend!"

Her friend merely arched a dark eyebrow in response. "Why would Karma attack you in the first place, though? I mean, you're not even that important," she teased, hoping to add some levity to the grim atmosphere that had settled around the two girls in the last few minutes.

And today had started out as such a _good _day, too. . . .

Pamela didn't respond to her friend's latest query, save for groaning loudly and burying her head in her hands. Her bronze hair fell around her face like a curtain, hiding her from the outside world.

"Stella, what am I going to _do_?" she moaned, her muffled cry barely heard through her hands. "I can't marry Zabini, I just _can't_."

"You can't really _do _much of anything," a soft voice whispered into her ear. "So, what I'd do in your shoes, Palasios, is just face the music and marry me . . . that is, unless you want the Ministry on your tail."

Pamela spun around quickly, teeth bared. "Zabini," she hissed, eyes narrowed.

Blaise, however, merely stood there, a wide grin plastered over his thin face. "Love, I must insist you call me, Blaise. You will be bearing the same surname soon, after all." Pushing Stella over slightly, he slid his way between the two girls in order to wrap a strong arm around his fiancee.

Said fiancee, however, was not about to take this lying down. Shoving his arm away, she stood, glaring down at him, even from her short height.

"First of all, if you like all your body parts in the right places, don't call me love. _Ever. _Second of all, I _will _call you Zabini, whether you like it or not. Third of all, I hate you . . . and fourth of all, I will _never _marry you – you arrogant, idiotic, damned _prick_!" With a final, fierce nod, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the Great Hall.

Blaise and Stella watched her go, expressions of mingled appreciation and fear on their faces. Finally, the latter turned to face the former.

"You _really _ticked her off, you know," Stella said, running a finger over her own unopened letter. "Not too good a way to start a courtship. . . ."

"I know." A fond smile played around Blaise's lips. "But I can't help it. She's just too cute when she'd mad."

"It's cute until you're having to dodge objects she's throwing at your head," Stella replied, rolling her eyes. "Then again, that'll be your job soon enough, I suppose." She stood up. "Anyway, I better go finish my Charms essay, see you, Zabini."

"Later, Fringe." He waved before returning to his customary spot next to Draco. "Hey, what's up?"

The usually suave Slytherin didn't reply.

"Draco?"

Studying him, Blaise could see that his best friend had turned slightly green; he looked as if he might hurl at any moment. In his hand, was his own, opened envelope.

Blaise didn't bother asking what was wrong – that was obvious – but instead, focused on something more pertinent.

"Draco, who is it?"

_**Ooo,Who's Draco's mysterious girl? Love it? Hate it? (Pam: I DEFINETLY hated it. Me:-ignore-)**_

_**REVIEW!!**_


	5. Draco

**Hi! -waves- So sorry, yet _another_ short chapter and I'm sorry for taking longer than usual but I only got this many -holds out eight fingers- reviews. And though I'm not exactly happy, I, at least, got reviews which I'm eternally grateful for. Sorry but Pamela couldn't comment, she's still sulking about being put with Blaise. Actually you could read her review she sent me. Don't worry she still loves me. -smiles sweetly- oh and nice of ya'll to guess who Draco ends up with. I saw that most of you, which when I mean most I mean literally almost all, who thought it was Hermione...I'll give you a cookie to those that guess.. you're half right. Draco's fiancee is a muggle-born, but is she Hermione?.... -sirius plays dramatic music- thank you sirius! -sirius flashes a grin and apparates away- Now..ON WITH THE SHOW!!!  
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**Chapter 5: Draco**

"Draco? Draco, what's wrong?" Blaise studied his best friend worriedly, noting his green complexion and shaking hands.

The blond, looking as if he were about to hurl, just shook his head and pushed his letter toward Blaise before closing his eyes, looking as if he were genuinely in pain. Becoming more frightened by the second – he had never seen his haughty, always-in-control friend act like this before – Blaise quickly scanned the letter.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_Congratulations on being one of the many eligibles to participate in the Marriage Act! The continued existence of our world is completely dependent upon the cooperation of yourself and your peers._

_In more pertinent matters, having done some testing on your best possible spouse, the Ministry has determined your fiancee to be Miss Stella Fringe, from Ravenclaw House._

_Remember, you should be married within the year and have had at least one child within three years. Thank you for your cooperation and, once again, congratulations on your imminent engagement._

_Yours Most Sincerely,_

_AnnaMaria Regan_

_Head of the Department for the Re-Development of the Wizarding World_

"Merlin's balls!" Blaise cursed, turning back to his distraught friend. "That sucks for you, mate. What's your father going to do?"

Draco shrugged, having changed – as was the Malfoy manner – from frightened to scheming.

"I don't know. Knowing Father, probably demand that the Ministry change my fiancee. His marriage to Mother was arranged, of course, but at least _she _came from good wizarding stock. The Malfoy family name is synonymous with good taste; I'm not about to sully it by marrying some filthy Mudblood." He spat the vile word, looking disgusted at the very thought.

Blaise knew better than to say anything. Draco was his best friend and they shared many of the same views, but this whole blood purity bit was just ridiculous. Wizards would have died out entirely if they hadn't intermarried with Muggles; there were very few pureblood families left. They were slowly dying off, one by one. . . .

"She was _chosen_, though," he stated reasonably. "I mean, it's not like just picking names out of a hat or anything; a long process goes into this – you saw the paper. This thing is never wrong; there must be _some _reason for you to be together even if you don't see it now."

_Now if I can just get Palasios to understand that, _Blaise thought wistfully.

Draco scoffed, crumpling the front page of the _Prophet _into a ball. "Well, it's wrong this time and _I'm _going to write to my father. I won't stand for this," he stated stubbornly. "Come on, Crabbe, Goyle." Like two well-trained – if extremely ugly – guard dogs, the two larger boys flanked him out of the Hall.

It was only once Draco was safely out of earshot that Blaise shook his head, laughing under his breath. It wasn't often that Draco Malfoy was bested by _anyone_, let alone a Muggleborn.

"Fringe better be able to drive some sense into him," Blaise muttered to himself, taking a bite of toast, "or he could cause a whole lot of trouble."

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** Well there you have it! The mysterious fiancee is Miss Stella Fringe. Not what you were expecting,but don't worry she won't be one of those Mary Sues. She's mostly based on me, so I'll know when she's acting all..not me. hehehe. Anyways, it won't be those typical Stella loves Draco, Draco hates her guts because she's a muggle-born. No, it's more of Stella likes another guy that doesn't like her (or does he?), Draco hates her guts because she's a muggleborn thing. lol. You people know the drill, Ten reviews or I'm not posting anything up, and I'm already at chapter 9, which I'm working on it as i ...write? so yeah..REVIEW!!**


	6. Stella & Hermione

_**Hi, everyone. I know I said I was going to wait until I got ten reviews, but I felt generous and with Christmas coming I thought why not give you guys a gift. Want to thank **_Kittenonabroomstick **_for reviewing, you are the best and don't worry each character will get their moment. There will be a time when some times when my OC characters are going to take control, but they're not, I'm just trying to get a point across, before I move on to the next couple. Yes, Pamela and Stella are my own, my OC's. Pam: I am my own person! Me: whatever. so enjoy this one and the other chapter, I'm going to post up._**_**  
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**Chapter 6 : Hermione & Stella**

"_Sunday morning, rain is falling. Steal some cover, share some skin._" Stella sang softly to herself as she entered the library.

Ignoring Madam Pince's glare – her singing _obviously_ disturbed the books – she headed straight to her favorite reading place. There it was, right in the _Z _section. No one went back here much – there weren't too many important topics that began with _Z –_ Stella curled up in the window seat, gazing out at the crystalline lake. Despite the chaos of this morning, this spot always made her feel at peace with the world. . . .

At peace, that is, until she heard a soft whimpering coming from the corner of the area. Craning her neck, she was just able to spot a head of bushy brown hair. She'd know that hair anywhere; after all, she had sat in back of it for several years. . . .

"Granger?" she said, taking a hesitant step forward.

Almost instantly, Hermione's head shot up to lock eyes with the other girl, brown eyes bloodshot and puffy, her brown hair even more wild than usual in her distress.

"W-who are you?" she hiccuped, impatiently brushing away tear tracks.

"Stella Fringe. I'm in your Ancient Runes class, you sit in front of me." Cautiously, Stella took another step forward.

"Oh, yes." Hermione nodded in recognition. "I remember you now. You're friends with Fred and George, aren't you? You've visited the Burrow before."

"Yeah." Stella grinned. "Haven't seen them in a while actually. Erm . . . do you mind if I sit down." Hermione, looking slightly more calm, shook her head emphatically, patting the empty space next to her invitingly.

_Now came the hard part. _Steeling herself, Stella turned to Hermione. "Er, I know it's not really any of my business, but er . . . why were you crying?" Stella studied her new friend's face in concern.

"Oh, it's not a big deal, really," Hermione sniffed, attempting to brush the incident off as nothing. A stray hiccup negated that comment. "I'm just being st-stupid. . . ."

"It's obviously a big deal if you were crying over it."

"It's just, well . . . Ron's going to get married to Padma Patil. You know Ron, right? Fred and George's brother?"

"Yeah, but. . . ." Stella cut herself off, realizing what this must mean to the poor girl; scooting closer, she wrapped an arm around the distressed witch.

"And you wanted to end up with Weasley," she concluded, softly yet firmly. Hermione didn't answer; she didn't need to. Her renewed tears were the only answer Stella Fringe needed.

"No offense, Hermione, but do you really believe that you and Weasley – _Ron Weasley –_ could ever end up together and be _happy_? You fight _all _the time. I mean, do you really want to be with someone who's constantly pushing your buttons. You're like, polar opposites," Stella explained matter-of-factly.

Hermione's eyes widened as she mulled things over. Now that she thought of it, they really _did _fight all the time . . . and over the stupidest things, too. . . . Why, the other day, it had been over her not letting him copy her History of Magic notes. Harry had gone to bed early that night.

And what it would be like if they spent _years _together? She'd go _mad_. But still. . . .

"Everyone expects us to be together, though. . . ." Hermione trailed off, looking confused. _Well, there's a first, _Stella thought.

"So?" she replied heatedly. "Screw everyone's expectations! Screw what _they _want. Hermione, you're the smartest in our year, but sometimes you can be _really _thick. What matters in the end isn't _their _expectations, but _yours_. As long as you're who _you _want to be, then no one can tell you otherwise."

"I-I. . . ." If Stella hadn't known better, she thought she might have traumatized the poor girl. But she was smiling.

"Better?" Stella asked gently.

"Not yet." Hermione's smile widened the tiniest fraction. "But I will be." Patting her shoulder, Stella's eyes drifted down where Hermione's letter lay, still unopened.

"You haven't opened your letter yet?" she asked.

"Oh, no." Hermione shook her head. "I was going to open it in the girls' dormitory, you know, for privacy, but I think I'll open it now. At least if I get someone horrible, I have a friend here with me." Hermione gave Stella a shy smile which she returned before nodding toward the letter.

"Come on, just get it over with. It's just like pulling off a bandage, only hurts for a little bit."

"I don't really _want _it to hurt at all," Hermione retorted, breaking open the seal and unfurling the piece of parchment. In a few seconds, she allowed it to flutter to the ground, her mouth open in a surprised _O_.

"What's wrong?" Stella asked worriedly.

Hermione didn't answer, just blinked, picked up the letter, read it a second time, and allowed it to fall to the ground once more. "I'm marrying Fred Weasley," she explained, sounding slightly dazed.

Stella could only stare for a moment, before snatching up the letter for herself. "Oh, wow! Bloody hell, Hermione, that's _great_! Better than some of the matches, anyway. My friend, Pamela, she just got engaged to this guy she _hates_. And, hey, at least Fred got his wish and. . . ."

"_What?_"

Once again, Stella had to cut herself off, inwardly cursing to herself. She had _promised _goddamn it! "Oh, nothing!" She waved an airy hand. "Just thinking out loud."

Still looking suspicious, Hermione shoved the letter into her bag before turning back to Stella.

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Who's your fiancé?"

"Oh, erm . . . I don't know, really. I was going to open it later, but. . . ."

"Oh, come on, I opened mine!" Hermione teased.

"Alright, alright." Rummaging through her own bag, she divested the slightly crumpled piece of parchment with a triumphant cry. Tearing it open, she proceeded to read it aloud in what she imagined a pompous, Ministerial voice to sound like.

"_Dear Ms. Fringe, Congratulations, blah, blah, blah, your best potential partner blah, blah, blah. _Ah, here we go, and _your fiance is_. . . ."

Silence reigned as Hermione waited for Stella to complete the next two words. Nothing came.

"Fringe? _Stella? _What's wrong?" Hermione watched her friend's eyes grow as big as saucers.

Silence.

"Stella, come on, you're sc-"

However, it was Hermione's turn to be cut off as Stella made a horrible, guttural sound – it sounded halfway between a choke and a sob – before her eyes rolled back in their sockets and her head slammed into the window. The window that looked out on the beautiful, crystalline lake.

"STELLA!" Hermione screamed.

* * *

_**Well there you go. What caused Stella to faint? The world may never know.. -snicker- anyways, I want to ask you a question that my church instructor told me and my classmate..church-mates -confused look-. Is it easier to forgive or forget? REVIEW!!**_


	7. Stella's Surprises

_**MERRY CHRISTMAS!!! This is my gift to you! Hope you enjoy it! Pamela, say something. Pam: -bored expression- Humbug Me:-pushes her away- ignore her. she's just waiting for Snape's fiancee. Pam: it's hilarious!! it's- Me:-covers mouth- Don't spoil it! -glares at her-**_

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Chapter 7: Stella's Surprises**

"Will she be okay?" Hermione's face was deathly pale as she spoke to the kindly matron.

"Don't worry, Miss Granger." Madam Pomfrey's face extended into an affable smile. "Miss Fringe will be fine. She will have to stay here overnight, of course, but she'll be just fine."

Hermione breathed out an audible sigh of relief, fighting not to sink to the cold, hospital tiles. She hadn't been able to shake the fact that this was all her _fault_. If she hadn't reminded Stella about her letter . . . and if anything had happened to her, oh, _Merlin_. . . .

"What happened to her?" Ron's voice intruded on her thoughts. Both he and Harry had noticed Hermione pacing frantically outside the hospital wing a few minutes ago and she hadn't yet filled him in. What with her epiphany about how she _truly _felt about him, the youngest Weasley boy didn't seem all that important anymore.

"I don't know!" she exclaimed, tugging at her long, brown curls. "She just read the letter and then she got all weird and she just _fainted_!"

Ron whistled softly under his breath. "Well, did you get a chance to read it, to see what made her faint?"

"_No!_ Ronald, it's really none of my business – and not yours, either, I might add. I'm not going to read it unless she gives me her express permission to."

"Alright, alright." Ron raised his hands, as if to fend off the agitated witch. "Don't get your knickers in a twist!"

"_Ronald Weasley! _I'll have you know. . . ."

"Can you both do me a favor," a hoarse voice issued from behind them, "and shut the hell up?" Both whirled around to see Stella, struggling to sit up and looking a bit the worse for wear, but glaring at them all the same.

Hermione blushed and started toward the bedridden girl. "Oh, Stella, are you al-" But the other girl cut her off with a raised hand.

"And _this _is why I knew you two wouldn't work out," she stated. If possible, Hermione's blush deepened while, behind her, Ron's eyes narrowed in confusion, desperately trying to figure out whatever the Ravenclaw had meant by _that_.

Next to Stella's bed, a third voice chuckled. "I have to agree with you there, Stella. Anyway, how are _you _doing. Hermione seemed really worried, but she wouldn't tell us anything." Starting Stella turned to her right to see her best friend, Pamela, sitting next to Harry Potter.

It was Harry who had spoken.

"Oh, yeah, I'm f-fine," she stuttered slightly, struggling to avert her eyes from the green-eyed wizard's.

"Oh, thank _goodness_!" Hermione's exuberant cry left Stella's ears ringing for a few seconds. "What happened? I nearly had a heart attack!" she continued, in a slightly softer tone.

"Whoa, whoa." Stella laughed. "Calm down, Hermione, it's just. . . ." The girl's smile quickly faded as she remembered what _it _was.

_Oh no, oh no, oh no. . . . _The world spun around her – white walls, white bedcovers, blending all together.

"Whoa, steady there." The next thing she knew, Harry's arms were around her shoulders, laying her gently down on the bed as Hermione, Pamela, and Ron watched worriedly.

"Oh, thanks," she said, faintly.

"What _happened _to you?" Pamela repeated Hermione's last question, twirling a loose strand of hair around one finger, a nervous gesture, Stella knew.

"Erm, well . . . I _fainted_."

"I worked that bit out for myself, actually," Pamela replied, rolling her eyes. "What I meant, was, well. . . ."

"Who'd you get?" Ron demanded suddenly. The other three merely glared at him.

"Tactful, as always, I see, Ronald," Hermione spat acidly. Stella, meanwhile, had buried herself under the covers; she had started to quiver.

"Stella? Stella, it's alright," Pamela consoled, placing a hand on her friend's shoulder. "I mean, come on, it can't be worse than mine, can it?"

"Or mine," Harry added. Pamela nodded in agreement.

Stella said nothing for a few moments, then took a deep breath. _Come on, you may not be a Gryffindor, but you can still be brave. _"Alright, alright, I'll spill. . . . I-I'm engaged to . . . Draco Malfoy."

"_Malfoy!_" Ron shouted and Stella winced. Hermione glared at him while attempting to look sympathetic at the same time; it was a rather odd expression, Stella had to admit.

"I'm guessing you're a Muggleborn, then?" Harry questioned.

Stella, blushing, was barely able to meet his gaze. "Well, yeah. I live with Pam, though, so. . . ." She trailed off, feeling stupid for sharing that little tidbit. Why would Harry Potter ever care about _her _life? He was probably just trying to be nice. . . .

"Oh, er . . . if you don't mind my asking, what happened to your parents?" Harry asked, looking genuinely curious. Almost immediately, he noticed Stella's eyes fill with tears. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's alright, you don't have to. . . ." Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder.

"No, it's okay. I'm okay." As gently as possible, Stella brushed his hand away. "Well, five years or so ago, my parents, they – they were killed by a drunk d-driver." She fought against the considerable lump in her throat, before burying her face in her hands.

Vaguely, she felt a comforting arm wrapped around her. Swiping at her cheeks, she saw it was Ron, looking confused but well-meaning. Hermione had both hands over her mouth while Harry looked extremely guilty. Pamela, of course, knew the whole story.

"Okay," Stella sniffed, wiping away the last vestiges of tears. "Enough of this. It was in the past, it stays there." The trio studied her for a moment – as if searching for signs of mental instability – before slowly, nodding. Ron patted her shoulder one last time before retreating to the foot of the bed.

"Oh, Merlin, you got the bloody ferret? Man, do I feel bad for you," Ron said emphatically, plopping down on the edge of the bed, his weight sending a ripple through her. Almost involuntarily, she gripped onto the head, fighting not to fall off as she smiled at him, amused.

"Yeah," Harry added, still looking a bit guilty, "if you have any problems with him, give us a call. We'll set him straight," Harry said with a wink. Stella felt her heart leap into her throat – he had _winked _at her!

She smiled shyly back at him, fighting off her fangirlish urges. "Thanks, Harry, but . . . he's not the reason I fainted."

"What _was_, then?" It was Harry's turn to look confused.

"Well, I know this sounds weird, but I also got a second fiance."

"A _second _fiance?" Hermione echoed. "Who?"

Stella gulped. "Professor Lupin."

"Wh-what?" Pamela whispered, stunned, eyes wide. Ignoring the trio's hanging mouths, Pamela turned directly to her best friend.

"I have to marry Remus Lupin and Draco Malfoy."

"Merlin's saggy left nut."

* * *

_**You guys weren't expecting that WERE you, huh? were you? I think NOT! aww, it looks like Stella has a wittle crush on someone. REVIEW!!!**_


	8. I refuse!

_**I'm very disappointed. I posted up two chapters and guess how many reviews I got...**_

_**Pam: 20?**_

_**Me: Psh..I wish..no I got four. one for chapter 6 and three for chapter 7. Regardless,I want to thank all those that review and you all deserve a giant cookie. **_

_**Enjoy this chapter, it's one of my many favorites. Pam:-snickers- me too.  
**_

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**Chapter Eight: I Refuse!**

He wasn't going to do it. No, he would rather _die –_ no, suffer the _Dementor's Kiss –_ than marry. . . . _Ugh_, the very thought made him queasy. Bile rose in his throat.

If he was gay, then at least he could _partially _understand. It had just been his ill luck to be cursed with such a man for a spouse. But he was _not_. At all. He had been in love with Lily since he was a boy . . . he still loved her. It was too bad something like this hadn't gone on in _his _seventh year. That would have knocked the smirk right off of James bloody Potter's face if slimy Snivellus Snape had been paired up with his "one, true love."

But no, of course it didn't. Because Snape never got lucky like that. What he got was . . . was _very _unlucky, being forced to marry a man. And not just any man – if it were a decent man, he might have considered it – but no, of course it couldn't be. He was not only forced to marry a man, but a demonic man at that – one named _Sirius Black_! This had to be some sick joke. The Ministry couldn't really be _that_ incompetent, could they?

Otherwise, he was scared for humanity.

It was a known fact that he and Black hated each other. They had hated each other since the first time they had met – even more than Potter and himself – and hadn't stopped since. It had been a mutual loathing, very healthy, really.

What was _not _healthy was the Ministry assigning the two of them to marry. Well, not the Ministry per se; rather, it was the "unbiased party," the Cauldron of Truth. He liked that, the _Cauldron of Truth_. The Cauldron of Utter Scam, more like.

Severus Snape and Sirius Black – soul mates? The very idea was laughable; indeed, he would have been laughing if he didn't have the insane urge to throw up at the same time.

He _refused_. As far as he was concerned, the Ministry could take their damned Marriage Law and stick it up their ass because there was no way in hell he was going to marry Black.

And he was planning on telling the Minister just that. In fact, he was headed there right now.

"_Level One: Minister of Magic's Office_," the cool female voice announced and the golden grilles slid apart. Snape stalked down the Hall, pitch-black robes – robes that had terrified many a Hogwarts student – billowing menacingly.

He slammed through the door with _Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic _ignoring the cries of his scandalized secretary.

"Sir? Sir, do you have an appointment with the Minister? I'm afraid he's seeing someone right now, sir. _Sir!_" The incensed professor pushed right past her and into the Minister's study.

His first thought was that the secretary, now bobbing concernedly behind him, had been telling the truth. The Minister _was _seeing someone.

And that someone happened to be Severus Snape's fiance, the ex-mass murderer, Sirius Black.

_Great minds think alike . . . or at least one great mind, one half-witted one, _Snape conceded. Black was no fool as far as these things were concerned; after all, the man had been thrown into prison, innocent, without a trial. If he hadn't learned to be wary of Ministry officials by now, then he never would.

". . .AND ANOTHER THING, I AM NOT ABOUT TO _MARRY _THAT TRAITOROUS, GREASY GIT!!! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY _MIND _MINISTER?! I WOULD RATHER GO BACK TO _AZKABAN _THAN MARRY THAT . . . THAT _THING_!" Sirius Black shouted, stormy-gray eyes flashing dangerously.

Well, he had best step in before Black landed them both in prison. He was sure this could be worked out reasonably quickly with a few charming words and, perhaps . . . a few bribes. Snape would give any amount of money to ensure he never had to share a bed with the man now standing in front of him.

"My thoughts exactly," he drawled, stepping further into the room. Both men looked up in surprise and the secretary squeaked in fear. Snape couldn't help but notice how her eyes swept over Black's body, sizing him up, and a smile lit her face. Without saying a word, Snape closed the door in her face with a _snap_.

"Snape!" Scrimgeour cried, looking distinctly nervous. "I was just trying to explain to Mr. Black here. I mean, this is totally preposterous. Surely _you _as a teacher can understand the need. . . ."

"It is true," Snape replied, "I _do _see the need to repopulate the wizarding world. In fact, I agree with you, Minister Scrimgeour."

"Thank you, Sev-"

"Yet, however that may be," Snape continued inexorably, "I utterly _refuse _to marry this man. And I am sure he feels the same." The Potions Master's voice was quiet, yet seemed louder than Sirius's shouts. The Minister shuddered and attempted a dry chuckle as he stared into Snape's deep, black eyes; they did not relent.

"Alright, alright, you win." He lifted his hands in surrender, smiling slightly. "I will just call some escorts to make sure you reach the entrance safely."

"Thank you, Minister, but there is no need." Snape inclined his head in respect before heading for the door. Sirius nodded his head in agreement with his schoolboy nemesis.

"Oh, nonsense." A maniacal smile spread across Scrimgeour's face. "I insist." As if on cue, two large men opened the door to the office. Their muscles bulged under the fabric of their too-tight robes; Snape and Sirius reached for their wands.

"You rang, Minister?" asked the first, scratching his bald head.

"Yes, gentlemen, thank you for arriving so promptly. You see, these two gentlemen do not wish to participate in the Marriage Act. Quite understandable, of course. I would just like you to escort them out," Scrimgeour explained, gold eyes flashing.

Snape drew his robes around him. The room suddenly felt as if it had gotten five degrees colder.

"Of course, Minister." The second of the two bodyguards nodded as his companion chuckled darkly. Before either wizard could move, both men had disarmed them and dragged them, struggling, toward the door.

"Enjoy your punishment, gentlemen!" Snape heard Scrimgeour call out as they were dragged down the hall. "Tell me when you are ready to get married and I will more than happily release you. There is a fine line between love and hate, after all!" He laughed, cruelly.

"You _bastard_!" Sirius shouted, biting down, _hard_, into the arm of his captor. All it earned him was a cuff on the back of the head.

"Show some respect, you traitor," the first man grunted.

Snape tried to shout as they were dragged into the golden elevator, but it was no use. The man's hand was over his mouth and nose, suffocating him. They were trapped.

_Goddamn you, Black._

Down, down, down, they went, past even the Department of Mysteries. No cool female voice issued when they reached the bottom floor. Snape barely had time to register it as a dark and dismal dungeon before they were thrown inside. The door closed with a resounding _thud _behind them.

And, for the first time, Severus Snape and Sirius Black were thinking the exact same thing. As one, they ran to the door, hammering it with their fists. Simultaneously, they screamed the exact same words.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! GET US OUT! GET US _OUT_!!!"

* * *

_**OOo, what torture are Severus and Sirius going through? hehe, I'm not telling.**_

_**Pam:What is it?**_

_**Me: Didn't I say i'm not telling?!**_

_**Pam: sheesh,relax. you know I thought you being with Draco would make you less ...like this..but it's not working.**_

_**Me:-rolls eyes- REVIEW PLEASE!!!! All I'm asking this time is for 5 reviews. If ya'll give me more than that, I promise to post the next chapter right away.  
**_


	9. Honey,I'm hooome! part 1

**Hey people I'm back!! Along with my "sister" Pamela. Pam:*waves* **

**Anyways,I decided to break this chapter into two,maybe three parts, you'll see why in a sec. Thanks to all those that reviewed the last time. And After this chapter things will become..._interesting._ *smirk***

**Pam: *reads from a card* You mean _more_ than it already is**

**Me: *snatches the card & glares at her* You're not suppose to read that in front of my readers!!**

**Pam:*smiles sweetly* enjoy the show.  
**

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Chapter 9****: ****_Honey I'm Hooome!(part one)  
_**

**Minerva McGonagall** had been – and, indeed, is still known as – the sternest and most collected person on the planet. In the Marauders' prankster days, students and professors alike had run about like headless chickens, she had simply sat back and waited for it all to stop, perhaps take a sip of her favorite white tea. _Yum._

There had been no change since.

When Albus Dumbledore had announced a few years ago that Voldemort was alive and amongst them once more, she hadn't even batted an eye, but merely offered her services to the Order as easily as performing a basic bit of Transfiguration. There were better things to worry about than He-Who-Has-No-Nose's return; those first-years' essays desperately needed grading and their spelling was just _atrocious_. Now, _that _was something to worry about.

Minerva McGonagall, however, would have rather graded millions of first-year essays then and there to take back what had happened only hours previously. She paced up and down, absolutely outraged, in front of an anxious-looking Flitwick. To be fair to the poor man, it must be odd to see her acting . . . well, so . . . _not _her. Nevertheless, she couldn't help herself.

_How _could this happen? How, how, _how_?!

"Oh, Merlin, oh, Merlin! Filius, _what _am I going to do?" she cried, striding back and forth, back and forth across the polished wooden floor of her office. The diminutive teacher didn't even bother trying to keep up, but sat beside her desk, attempting to soothe the distraught witch.

"Don't worry your head, Minerva," he consoled in his small, squeaky voice, "it'll all turn out for the best, you'll see."

"NO, IT WILL NOT!" she shouted, angry tears brimming behind her square spectacles. "Have you _seen _the pairings, Filius? I can only suppose we're fortunate in that Miss Granger hasn't been put with Mister Malfoy, but the others . . . the others aren't much better! Miss Palasio and Mister Zabini, I ask you? Is this some sick _joke_? And even worse, Mister Malfoy with Miss Fringe! They'll have killed each other by the week's end!" Her hair was falling out of its' rigid bun as she raked her fingers through it in agitation and she flung herself down in her chair, breathing as though she had just won a marathon.

"Erm, well. . . ." The Head of Ravenclaw seemed momentarily at a loss for words, but any possible condolence was cut off by a familiar voice.

"Minerva." Both professors froze; they had nearly forgotten that they weren't alone. Blanching, the current headmistress turned, slowly, to face her predecessor, the late headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Well, his portrait-self, at least.

"Albus," she greeted somewhat curtly, blinking back tears that were threatening to spill. She and Dumbledore had been the best of friends since she had taken his spot as Transfiguration professor; to realize that the closest she could get to him – in this life at least – was a gold gilt frame was hard to bear.

"Don't fret, my dear," the old headmaster began with a knowing smile. "It is good of you of course to worry for this noble school and the students in it but – I am fairly sure – everything will fall into place. You must only have faith."

Almost instantaneously, McGonagall felt her tensed muscles relax. How she had missed that voice, so ready to give advice in time of need. . . .

"Yes, Albus. Thank you," she said. Although her voice shook slightly, it was certainly more confident than it had been only moments before.

"Well, since things appear to be settled, I shall leave you now. I have some papers to grade. Minerva, I'll see you at dinner." With a friendly smile for both his old colleagues, Flitwick departed from the office. Minerva took a deep, steadying breath . . . just as a regal-looking eagle owl flew through the window and dropped a letter onto her desk. Puzzled, and faintly apprehensive, McGonagall reached forward and slit the parchment open.

_Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I will be Flooing to your office in ten minutes to discuss with you certain matters that have come up._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Lucius S. Malfoy_

Minerva couldn't help but roll her eyes. She was pretty sure she knew what _this _meeting was about . . . but it didn't seem like this problem could be solved with a sackful of gold.

The fireplace flared up suddenly and out stepped Lucius Malfoy, in all his glory, dusting invisible soot from his immaculate cuffs.

"Good evening, Headmistress," he greeted unctuously, inclining his head slightly.

"Good evening, Lucius. Please, do take a seat," she responded tightly, gesturing toward the seat Flitwick had just vacated. She waited until the man had settled himself before beginning. "Now, what was it you wished to speak to me about?"

"I would find that obvious, Minerva." Lucius's voice had lost its' unctuous quality as he settled down to business. "It is my son's engagement to that . . . _Muggleborn_." Minerva was sure Lucius had bitten off the use of the other word for someone of non-wizard parentage.

"I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy, but it is not I who authorized the engagement. If you have any qualms about it, then I suggest you take it to the Ministry – not me."

Lucius's fists clenched on the desk; veins stood out against his pale skin.

"Don't you think I already went to them?" he hissed. "Yet still, no matter how much I . . . _persuade_ -" his pockets jingled - "they won't budge. I thought that if _you_, as headmistress of this prestigious school. . . ."

"No," she replied firmly. "If the Minister – the highest authority our world has – refused, do you really think there's anything that _I _can do? Really, Lucius, I thought you had more sense than that. Now, if there is nothing else, good day." She nodded toward the waiting fireplace.

"But -"

"_Good day_, Mister Malfoy."

"But-"

"_Good day_." She said, shooting him the most fearful glare she could muster. Muttering mutinously under his breath, the man had no choice but to turn back to the fireplace and allow the emerald-green flames to engulf him once more.

Minerva sighed, standing up once more as she fixed her hair into a presentable bun once more. _Time to face the students. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, if you ask me. . . ._

A pair of twinkling blue eyes watched her go.

* * *

**The Great Hall**, as usual, was filled with chatter – students shouting across to friends in different Houses, laughter, and a few shouts as thrown food found its' mark. Yes, all usual. . . .

Except for the seventh years. Whether Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin, all of them sat, solemn and stony-faced, as if they were facing their last meal. Several clenched their fists convulsively while tears streamed down a few of their cheeks. Most of them were beyond tears.

However, all noise between the lower years ceased as well as Headmistress McGonagall stood from her spot at the center of the staff table. Some seventh years – a few of them Gryffindors – sent pleading looks her way, as if she could fix this all with a wave of her wand. How she wished she could. . . . Purposefully, she allowed her gaze to travel around the room, avoiding the sea of puppy-dog eyes.

"I hope you are all enjoying your dinner. I am sorry to interrupt, but I have some important information to impart to you and I did not feel that it could wait. It has been decided – with the encouragement of the Ministry – that -" her lips pursed in a very thin line, this was just _outrageous_ - "that the newly-engaged couples should live together for the remainder of the year."

The silence in the Hall was instantly broken with a low buzz of chatter. The solemn atmosphere around the seventh years grew darker, heavier . . . a few of the younger students scooted farther down on the benches to avoid their unlucky peers.

"Quiet, please," McGonagall ordered in a ringing tone. The buzz subsided somewhat . . . ah, well, that was the best she was probably going to get; she hated this news as much as they did, after all. "Thank you. You see, you must understand . . . this is to prepare you for marriage and the life you will share together after Hogwarts. For those of you in different Houses, it will help you get to know each other better. Child-rearing classes have also been arranged and will be taught by Professor AnnaMaria Regan -" a plump woman with a large quantity of red hair raised her glass in greeting - "and, needless to say, the Ministry expects a very favorable outcome. That is all, please enjoy the rest of your feast."

As she sat back down, McGonagall resisted the urge to add another desperate plea – to not cave in to this ridiculous law, to live and love who _they _wanted, not who some puffed-up authority appointed for them. She didn't know what stopped her – was it Professor Regan's suspicious glances or the thought of what would happen to her if she did? No, she doubted it; she was a Gryffindor, brave to her very core.

Perhaps it was Dumbledore. Albus Dumbledore, her old friend and colleague, had told her to trust that this would all work out . . . and she supposed that was what she would have to do. That, however, was proving very hard at the moment as she studied her grieving students. . . .

"Can you _believe _this? I don't want to move in with Zabini! Are they _mad_?!" cried Pamela, her blue eyes incandescent with rage.

"You never know, guys, it might be for the best," began Ron hesitantly; he was cut off by a furious Hermione.

"Oh, shut up, Ron. You're just happy that you got Padma. Stella and I actually have something to worry about! _Our fiancés_ don't even _live _at Hogwarts! D'you think the rule applies to us, then?" The rest of the seventh years, so caught up in their own worries, didn't bother to answer her. Worriedly, she drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

Stella, meanwhile, leaned over her plate, pushing her food around and around it, not touching a bite. She couldn't eat . . . even if she and Pamela had been invited to sit here by Harry and Hermione. And who was one to refuse an offer made by the alleged "Chosen One," especially as one as cute and sweet and sensitive – you never saw that in guys these days – as Harry. . . .

"Stella, are you alright? You're being really quiet."

"Huh?" The girl's head jerked up, bits of steak-and-kidney pie trapped in her tresses, to meet a pair of gorgeous green eyes.

_I definitely wouldn't mind waking up to him every morning . . . but no, instead I get Draco bloody Malfoy._ Her face twisted alarmingly for a moment – fighting to both grimace and smile reassuringly at the same time – before the smile won out.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," she replied to a concerned-looking Harry. "Just thinking. . . . You know, about all of this, my fiancés. As if one isn't complicated enough. . . ." A wave of melancholy swept over her and she glanced back down to her plate again.

"Hey. Hey, now." A warm hand tilted her face upwards; hazel eyes met green. "Everything will turn out fine, I guarantee it. Besides, if Malfoy does anything, you just come to me. I'll sort him out." He sent her a reassuring smile and a teasing wink.

Cheeks burning bright scarlet, Stella could only gape at him, awestruck. This really was _the _Harry Potter saying these sweet things to _her_, Stella Fringe who was – for all intents and purposes - a nobody in the wizarding world. Harry Potter, who could charm just about any girl he wanted – all except that bitch, Pansy Parkinson, it seemed – was choosing to talk to and reassure _her_. That was just so . . . so. . . . But she didn't allow her thoughts to travel further as, without giving it much thought, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms tightly around the stunned wizard.

* * *

"Miss Granger, Miss Fringe, the headmistress would like a word with you." Professor Sprout approached the group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors leaving the House and beckoned to a couple standing together.

Slowly, as if afraid of attack, a bushy-haired girl and a dark-haired one stepped out. Bidding their friends goodbye, they turned toward the Herbology professor. Smiling, Sprout watched as Miss Granger reached out to take Fringe's hand and give it a consoling squeeze. It appeared Hufflepuffs weren't the only loyal students this school held.

"Follow me, girls," she directed gently and, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, began to steer them toward the Headmistress's office. She had no idea what Minerva wanted with the girls but, knowing how upset the woman was about this whole Marriage Act, it couldn't be anything _too _bad.

At least, she hoped not.

"Eternal love," she spoke to the gargoyle at the entrance. Smartly, it jumped aside, revealing the spiraling staircase that led up . . . up to where the girls' destiny awaited.

"This is where I leave you, girls. Good luck." Sprout gave their shoulders one last squeeze before striding off; it was almost time for her group of third years and they _were _a rambunctious lot. . . .

"Come on," Hermione whispered and, squeezing her friend's hand one last time, stepped in, Stella trailing after her.

* * *

Okay finish this first part, off to the second part. I only expect three reviews this time.

**Blaise: See?! She only asked for three this time. Isn't she nice? *smirks at me***

**Me:*glares* Review! everyone,please!  
**


	10. Honey, I'm Hooome! part 2

**Hi,It's Pamela. Sorry, Michelle couldn't be here right now because she's off with the Marauders,Weasley Twins, and Hermione finding a way to bring Cedric Diggory back to life. Ever since she got sorted into hufflepuff, she thinks that it's her duty to bring their Golden Boy back to them. -rolls eyes-**

**-whispers- the other reason is because she's trying to hook me up with Cedric. -shakes head- I don't think so.**

**Blaise: Of course not, you belong with me! -throws an arm around her-**

**Sirius: No, with me! -pushes Blaise's arm off of her and puts his own-**

**-Blaise shoves Sirius aside and they begin to fist fight-**

**Pamela: -over the yells- Hope you enjoy the show!! -turns to them and yells- BOYS!! NO BLOOD, YOU KNOW I'M BLOOD-PHOBIC!!  
**

* * *

"**Enter."**

Hermione couldn't help but start at the sound of McGonagall's brisk voice. Reluctantly, she pushed the door open, Stella following only half a step behind. Surprised, Hermione studied the spacious, circular office; Harry had described how it had looked when Dumbledore was headmaster and, to be perfectly honest, she had expected the new Head to have had it changed. Their teaching styles were so different, after all – Dumbledore was all twinkling eyes and unexpected words of wisdom and McGonagall was . . . well, McGonagall.

A tiny smile twitched at the corners of her mouth, but disappeared as soon as she spotted the figure already sitting behind the desk.

"Malfoy." She nodded coolly before taking a seat beside him. The Slytherin ignored her; instead, his cold, silver eyes were fixed intently on Stella. They followed her as she scurried across the room and, darting a nervous glance at the headmistress, dropped into the last available seat . . . right next to him.

Still, those eyes refused to waver. There was utter silence; even the portraits were watching. Hermione had the overpowering urge to reach over and sock Malfoy straight in the nose; _that _would knock the sneer off his face quick enough.

"No kiss hello, _wife_?" His cold voice rang throughout the room and Hermione could have sworn she felt the temperature drop a few degrees. Stella, however, showed no sign that she had heard her fiancee save for a slight shiver.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" he taunted. Again, he received no response.

"Enough, Mister Malfoy." McGonagall seemed to have found her voice at last, though she looked slightly pale. "Now, I expect you all know why you're here. Miss Granger, Miss Fringe, as I'm sure you have realized by now, both of your fiances live outside of Hogwarts."

"I live here," Draco interjected, rolling his eyes ostentatiously.

McGonagall ignored him. Her only response was a slight tightening of the skin around the lips while Stella shook her head.

"Therefore, I have decided that you should both board at Hogsmeade. With Madam Rosmerta's help, I was able to find you both a home, so you'll both be living near each other. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione exclaimed. Then, flushing, she amended, "Erm . . . no, Headmistress." Stella shook her head mutely in agreement, yet Hermione could tell she was thrilled, too. In times of crisis, it was always good to have a friend to turn to.

"Alright, then. Here are the keys to your houses." McGonagall handed a brass key to each of the girls. "You may go."

Both girls bade the headmistress farewell while Malfoy gave a curt nod before heading toward the spiraling staircase. Mere seconds after they had stepped onto solid ground once more, the blond turned his piercing glare on Stella.

"Listen here, Mudblood, I don't like you. In fact, I downright hate you. So, before we say our 'I do's' and all that crap, I'd like to make something _very _clear. Do not speak to me or touch me unless it's absolutely necessary. I don't even want you to _look _at me. Are we clear?"

For a moment, Hermione thought Stella would shrink under Malfoy's gaze or to pretend she hadn't heard him. She stepped forward, ready to defend her friend, just as Stella met Malfoy's glare with a powerful one of her own.

"Crystal," she hissed. Accepting this, Malfoy turned on his heel and began stalking down the corridor. Then, out of nowhere and as plain as day, "Draco, wait."

His gray eyes darkened. "_What_, Mudblood? Didn't I just order you _not _to talk to me?" The boy's sneering expression changed abruptly as Stella drew her wand, pointing it straight at his heart.

"Oh, I understood you perfectly, Malfoy but, you know, marriage is all about equality. I've heard your points, now you get to hear mine. Don't worry, this won't take long." Taking a step closer to him, her voice lowered dangerously. "First off, I don't hate you . . . I _despise _you. Seeing you makes me want to vomit, so stop acting as if _you're _making such a huge sacrifice because I am, too.

Hermione was gaping. Where was the timid Stella that had shown herself only a few moments ago? She didn't have long to reflect as Stella, seeming to ponder for a moment, continued. "Another thing, I'm not your slave; you have no right to tell me what I can and cannot do. I am my own person and, as my own person, I am not afraid to curse every single hair off of your pretty little head. So, here's a little advice from filth to filth – fuck off, Malfoy. You're messing with the wrong girl. Come on, Hermione." Turning on her heel, she led Hermione off down the corridor, leaving a dumbstruck Malfoy in their wake.

_Well, _thought Hermione, that _certainly doesn't happen every day._

They turned down a few corridors at a brisk walk and, once sure Malfoy was out of earshot, Stella leaned heavily against the wall.

"This boy is going to give me gray hairs before my time," she moaned, covering her face in her hands.

"No, he won't. You're a Gryffindor in disguise. You'll be able to handle him, no problem." Hermione placed a supportive hand on the other girl's tense shoulder.

"Well, I know _that_. Merlin, it's like trying to tame a fly." They were heading toward the main doors of the school now. Pushing them open, they trotted down the road toward the wrought-iron gates and Hogsmeade.

"Hmm, interesting analogy. Seems to suit him though," Hermione mused.

Stella cracked a grin. "I wonder, if he were an Animagus, what do you think he'd be – a ferret or a fly? They both describe him perfectly." Stella giggled at the thought.

"Fly, I think. A ferret's _way _too cute for him," Hermione laughed right along with her.

"True, but knowing my luck, he'd end up as a dragon or something and I'd be a little bunny rabbit he'd eat for lunch," Stella sighed woefully as they approached a neat little cabin. It looked like something in those fairy tales her mother used to tell her, like something where the kindly old witch would live. There was a vibrantly colored garden with a stone path wending its' way through to the front door which was guarded by a gate.

"Well . . . I guess this is my stop. . . ." Stella said, smiling slightly. Sensing that her friend was nervous, Hermione reached forward and wrapped her arms around her.

"Don't worry, we'll get through this, we _all _will. Besides, Malfoy won't be able to act like a jerk with Professor Lupin around. After all, he _is _the alpha dog." With a last wink and a comforting squeeze, she let go, staring resignedly off into the distance.

With a small smile, Stella shooed her off. "You'd better go. Your fiance might be waiting," she teased, unlatching the gate and stepping in. Reaching the front door, she took out the key that was in her jeans pocket and stuck it in the keyhole.

She gasped as the door swung open.

* * *

**Pamela** was furious . . . beyond furious. She was _so_ furious she couldn't even think of another word to describe herself _other _than furious. _And _she was a Ravenclaw, brains were supposed to be her specialty.

Why did God hate her so? I mean, she might not believe in him and she might not have attended church since she was eleven, but still. . . . It wasn't like she'd killed anyone or stolen anything, and she was always respectful to everyone . . . well, maybe not Zabini, but he was a special circumstance. And, Golden Rule be damned, she was sure God understood special circumstances like that.

The whole thing with her and Zabini had to be a joke, a sick, twisted joke, but a joke nonetheless. When she had first received her letter, she had expected McGonagall to stand up and announce this was nothing but a late April Fool's joke. That idea had grown as did her desperation; she was still waiting for someone to jump out and say, "Ha! We tricked you, we tricked you!"

Hope, however, seemed to have left for the Bahamas for a long, _long _vacation. Stupid hope.

Nevertheless, her lack of hope did not stop her from clutching onto a stone pillar – seemingly for dear life – as Harry and Ron struggled to get her inside the chamber. She refused to call it _her _chamber; she refused to share _anything _with Zabini.

"Come – _on_!" Harry panted. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as he tugged valiantly at her shoulders.

"NO!" Pamela only tightened her hold.

"Palasios!" a brisk voice snapped. All three froze in their struggling and turned slowly on the spot, Pamela still clutching onto the stone pillar.

McGonagall glared disapprovingly. "Get inside your chamber, Miss Palasios."

"But, Professor. . . ." What could she say? That she couldn't share a chamber with Zabini? That she had a severe allergic reaction to his presence which involved feeling the overwhelming need to kill whoever came near?

She wasn't quick enough. "No buts! Go in and five points from Ravenclaw for your disruptions." Hanging her head, Pamela reluctantly loosed her hold on the pillar and, dragging her feet as much as was humanly possible, walked slowly into her new home.

"And five points to Gryffindor for trying to obey orders – for once." She heard McGonagall addressing Harry and Ron as the door shut behind her.

"Stupid bloody Gryffindorks, always being so damned noble, never letting me do what I want," she muttered mutinously under her breath. The rest of her words, however, wedged in her throat as she caught her first glimpse of the room.

Now, don't get her wrong, she was _not _looking forward to sharing this room with Zabini – she refused to use the word fiance, it sent shivers up her spine. But still . . . this room, it was breathtaking. To think there would only be two people sharing it . . . the living area was as big as her common room!

The walls were painted a rich gold as was the chandelier – they had a _chandelier_! - and was hung with many delicate crystals. The canopy bed, which she could see through another doorway was absolutely gorgeous with its gold hangings; it looked like something a princess would sleep in. Tentatively, she took a step toward it; it wouldn't hurt to try it out – at least before Zabini got here – and it _was _late. . . .

"I knew you would like it." A soft voice issued from behind her and Pamela jumped, whirling around and scanning the room for an intruder. . . .

And there he was. Zabini stood in a doorway she hadn't noticed before, holding a blue-and-gold curtain aside. Sunlight poured through the window behind him, giving him an ethereal aspect.

Almost god-like, Pamela mused. Then, just as quickly, was disgusted with herself. _This is Zabini, remember? The enemy!_

"Yes, I do," she replied, her heart-rate sinking back down to normal. Desperate to change the subject, she asked, "What's that behind you?"

"Come and look." Zabini beckoned to her invitingly, holding the curtain for her as she stepped through . . . and promptly gasped again. It was an alcove – she had her own, personal alcove! There was room for a few chairs and a large picture window that had a great view of the lake. Oh, she could just picture herself curling up, watching the sunrise. . . .

"My work pleases you, then?" Zabini asked quietly. Pamela nodded faintly, then it clicked.

"Wh-what? _Your _work? Y-you did all this?" Pamela nodded toward her – alright, _their –_ room. Never breaking eye contact, Zabini nodded.

"I wanted to make you comfortable. I know this can't have been easy for you," he clarified. If it had been anyone else, Pamela was sure she would have melted into a huge pile of goo. This was _so _sweet . . . but, then again, this was Zabini, she reminded herself. There weren't any "sweet" cells in his body. He had to have an ulterior motive. . . .

"Erm, thanks. . . ." In search of something to do, she nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking anywhere but at him.

The back of her neck flushed as she realized she was feeling nervous – nervous toward _Zabini –_ when she had utterly no reason to! Straightening her shoulders, she turned to him with a determined expression.

"Right. Well, Zabini, since there doesn't seem to be any way to emancipate myself from this foolish engagement, I have a few ground rules to establish that should make our lives – our . . . life together – run more smoothly."

"Alright. . . ." he replied slowly, quirking an eyebrow at the sudden change in demeanor.

Somehow, Pamela had expected him to make more of a fuss. She had expected – _wanted –_ a fight and, for a moment, she was thrown off balance. Taking a breath to steady herself, she moved out of the alcove, toward the center of the room once more.

"OK, then, here are the rules. First off, no cutesy nicknames. I can't stand them. No entering our room without knocking, and no kissing or touching _of any kind _unless it's absolutely necessary. Clear?"

"Crystal." A smirk was spreading across Zabini's face. Pamela glared at him, happy to have an excuse to hate him once more.

"Good. Now, I'm going to go get ready for bed. I guess we're going to have to share a bed because I for one am not about to sleep on the floor and I'm not such a bitch to subject you to that fate. Just wait for me to call you and just . . . just stay on your side and we should be fine."

However, as Pamela grabbed her toiletries and headed toward the bathroom, she didn't think she'd ever been less "fine" in her life.

* * *

"Come _on_, Hermione, you can do this! You're a Gryffindor, remember?" Hermione muttered to herself as she stood uncertainly at the door to her new home.

The door she had been standing in front of for a good half-hour. Hogsmeade residents and those just in for a day's shopping gave her strange looks as they passed by; she was sure she looked odd. It wasn't even a Hogsmeade weekend and here was she, a Hogwarts student, hovering anxiously by the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She was sure Harry or Ron would have plunged in already . . . and have come out, pockets bulging with Nose-Biting Teacups and Nosebleed Nougats.

Then again, Harry or Ron weren't engaged to Fred Weasley. It would be slightly disturbing if they were – particularly Ron. A shrill, nervous cackle suddenly escaped her and several children cast her nervous looks before running off down the High Street.

_What was _wrong _with her?_

"Hermione?" She jumped as a hand was placed on her arm and swung around to face her fiance, who was currently studying her with a bemused expression.

"Oh! Erm . . . er, hi, Fred. Wh-what are you doing here?" she stammered, her hands fumbling with the tiny bronze key she held.

Fred raised an eyebrow. "I work here, remember?"

Another shrill laugh. _Damn it. _"I-I know that! I meant . . . I mean, er . . . shouldn't you be working or something?"

"I was, but a few minutes ago, one of my customers was kind enough to inform me that a beautiful young lady had been standing in front of my shop for a half-an-hour. Being the dashing gentleman that I am, I went to check. I, for one, am not one to leave a lady out in the cold."

"It's spring," she muttered, face as red as her husband-to-be's hair.

"Well, the warm, then. So, Miss Granger-soon-to-be-Weasley, are you just going to stand here all day or come in and enjoy our nice, cozy flat?" He held the door open invitingly. "It's up to you."

Trying to force down the dull blush now suffusing her cheeks, Hermione slipped gratefully under Fred's arm and through the doorway. The Hogsmeade branch of the twins' shop was just like the shop in Diagon Alley: colorful and loud. Hermione flinched as a dragon composed entirely of colored smoke rushed over her head.

"You might like it better in the back," Fred teased and, taking her wrist in his surprisingly gentle grip, led her into the back room where a purple staircase led the way to their flat. Fred pushed open the door with his usual flourish, but that did nothing to end to the very . . . very un-Fredishness of the room in front of her.

In startling contrast to the flashing, whizzing shop below her, this room was entirely bare. White walls, white floor, and no furniture, save for a small table that held a similarly bland white envelope.

"There was a charm on the door," Fred explained, looking somewhat guilty, "so I wasn't able to get inside and make it more . . . comfortable."

Hermione nodded, accepting this excuse and moved toward the center of the room where the envelope lay. For some reason, she had invested all her hopes in that tiny piece of parchment – that it would solve everything, her nervousness, her uncertainty, _everything_. She couldn't help but be slightly disappointed at the headmistress's brief, brusque message.

_Dear Mister Weasley and Miss Granger,_

_I have no doubt that you are confused as to the current state of your rooms. Let me explain: they are magical, meaning that the room will be whatever you tell it to be. I am sure both of you will recognize this from the Room of Requirement several years ago. Enjoy your new life and do not hesitate to owl if you have any questions._

_-Headmistress Minerva McGonagalli_

"Hmm. . . ." Hermione reread the letter before turning thoughtfully to the room at large, passing the letter off to a bewildered-looking Fred. This letter might not solve _all _her problems but, at the very least, it could be fun, right?

Hesitantly, she approached the wall. "Walls – blue," she commanded; immediately, they turned a light shade of blue, much like her room at home.

"Cool." Fred had finished reading the letter by now and was studying the room in amazement. "Erm, floor – tile." Tiles sprouted under both their feet.

"Couch," Fred continued, "black leather." The aforementioned couch appeared against the far wall.

"Hey," Hermione mock-scolded, "don't hog."

"Well, I don't see you coming up with any ideas, Miss Know-It-All," he retorted with a chuckle. Laughing, Hermione headed into the next room; one thing was for sure, this house would _definitely _need a woman's touch.

* * *

**First years scattered **like midges as Draco Malfoy stormed across the lawn, a murderous look on his face. How he wished to curse them, if only to relieve the anger currently building in his chest . . . but no. He was already screwed enough, but still. . . .

How _dare _that Mudblood speak to him that way? _How dare she? _Did she have any idea who he _was_? He was Draco bloody Malfoy, that's who – Slytherin prince, Hogwarts sex god, and the damned wealthiest bachelor in Britain! She should be thanking her lucky stars that she was granted such a wonderful man for a husband – albeit unwillingly – not spitting in his face like some brazen hussy!

_I'll show her, _Draco thought, a twisted smile spreading across his face as he pushed open the school gates and headed toward Hogsmeade. He had managed to get her address from an unwilling McGonagall; after all, they were soon to be married, he should at least know where he and his wife were to live.

Draco sneered at the sight of his new home. It looked hardly better than the Weasleys' hovel . . . why, Malfoy Manor was ten times bigger than this piece of filth. He had better not be expected to live here for long, he didn't think he could bear it. He strode confidently up the stone path, barely glancing at the garden, before ringing the doorbell.

"Coming!" Fringe's voice came from somewhere inside. Running footsteps, the sound of something – or some_one –_ falling, some mingled curses, before the door was flung open.

"Oh – oh, Malfoy," she panted, slightly breathless.

"Very astute, Fringe," he drawled. "Now, are you going to let me in or just stand there like an idiot?" He watched in amusement as her eyes narrowed in anger; let her try anything and he'd have her hauled in front of the Wizengamot. The Malfoy name certainly had enough influence there to guarantee him a nice, pureblood fiancee.

However, she said nothing, only stepped aside to let him in. Gazing around the house, he was surprised to see the house looked like nothing like he had thought it would. It was comfortably furnished, elegant yet not ostentatious, large yet with that warm feeling . . . that feeling of _home _that was always missing at Malfoy Manor in all its cold beauty.

Having finished examining the house itself, Draco turned back to his fiancee. He barely suppressed a shudder. He couldn't believe that he – a Malfoy – was going to marry a _Mudblood_. The Malfoys fine, pureblood name would be sullied by an unlucky twist of fate; the story would come down generation after generation. _Your great-great-great grandfather Draco had to marry a _Mudblood_. Ugh._

But . . . at least, she wasn't a particularly _bad-looking _girl, he mused, studying her. She had cleaned up since the meeting in McGonagall's office; her black hair, usually scraped into a high ponytail, now hung loose and silken, just brushing her bare shoulders. Looking further down, he saw that she was wearing a knee-length white, strapless dress that seemed to float around her as she moved.

No, she didn't look bad at all. At least for a Mudblood.

"Malfoy?" Her voice – gentle now – broke through his thoughts and his cold gray orbs rose up to meet her own green irises. . . . _Green?_

"Aren't your eyes hazel?" he blurted suddenly, stupidly.

"Yes. . . ." she replied slowly, as if addressing someone very slow.

"But your eyes are green. Right now," he said, eyebrows furrowed. A second later he wished a Bludger would come and hit him in the head, maybe _that _would knock some sense into him. What was he, four years old? Asking about the color of someone's eyes as if it were the most important matter. . . .

"Oh, that." She cut off his self-deprecation with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Yeah, they change color sometimes. Green, brown, one time they were this really nice shade of blue, but that was for only like, a second. Actually, the word hazel means to change color."

"Oh." He wasn't sure what else to say.

"Yeah. Erm . . . well, it's getting late. I'm heading off to bed," Fringe said with a yawn. Draco nodded absently, watching her head down the hall.

"If you want to stay, spare room's the first door on the right." She pointed behind her to the door nearest Draco.

Another nod. "Thanks."

"Yep. Anyway, night, Malfoy." Her door shut with a soft _click_.

Malfoy stood stock-still for several seconds and shook his head, feeling dazed. He must be more tired than he'd thought. Barely awake, he dragged himself into the spare bedroom and, without even bothering to slip out of his shoes, collapsed.

It had been a long day.

* * *

**Pansy Parkinson **was many things – Slytherin princess to her friends, Queen bitch to her enemies, Aaron Parkinson's "little girl" (how little he knew), but Potter's _wife_? Never!

If someone had told her a few days ago that she would be engaged to marry the Boy-Who-Lived, she would have laughed straight in their face before blasting them into oblivion for suggesting such a thing. As a girl, the only husband she could possibly conceive of was one, Draco Malfoy, but now even _he _was engaged to some Mudblood bitch.

And she . . . she was standing in her – _their –_ new home in her – erm . . . _their –_ new living room, discussing in a civilized manner _their _predicament.

"So I think that, maybe . . . maybe we should just put our prejudice behind us and, you know . . . start fresh," Potter was finishing. She watched him rub the back of his neck – a sure sign of nervousness – waiting for her response.

Pansy leaned back in her own green chintz armchair, studying her fiance. The last thing she wanted to do was marry him, just like the last thing _he _wanted to do was marry _her_. United in their mutual hatred, she supposed there was only one thing _to _do.

"Alright."

"Really?" Potter was watching her apprehensively. She didn't suppose she could blame him.

She shrugged. What else was there to do? He, apparently, took this for consent.

"So . . . friends?" He stuck out a tentative hand. She stared at it as if it were a snake . . . actually, not a snake, more of a lion. A _Gryffindor _lion.

"Come on, I don't bite," he teased.

She could only smirk. "You might not, Potter, but _I_ most certainly do."

* * *

**Ginny Weasley** was hyperventilating. She couldn't do this, she just _couldn't_.

"Ginny!"

_He _was in there already, she just knew it. What would they say to each other? What would she _do_?

"_Ginny!_"

Merlin's pants, she could _not _do this! She'd rather die than have to go in and see . . . _him_.

"Ginny, breathe!" Who was that? Oh, yes, Hazel. Her best friend, Hazel. Hazel, who wasn't seventeen yet, who didn't have to endure this torture. Didn't she understand? Couldn't Ginny _make _her understand?

"I-I c-c-can't!" she choked out.

_SLAP!_

Her brown eyes growing wide in shock, Ginny turned to face her friend, bringing a hand to her stinging cheek.

"I-I'm sorry," Hazel stuttered. "It's just, you wouldn't calm down and I-I thought. I was just worried, you know?" she finished lamely.

"No, Hazel, it's alright. I-I needed that, thanks." Taking a deep breath, Ginny managed a sliver of a smile. Hazel smiled back before nudging her gently toward the door – the door they had been standing in front of for the last half-hour.

"Come on, everything will turn out fine, I can feel it."

"You're sure?"

"I swear. And besides, if you ever need anything, you know exactly where to find me. God, I'll be lonely."

"_What?_"

"What what?"

"I can't believe you'll be _lonely_. I'd give anything to have my birthday later in the year. _You're _the lucky one, Hazel."

Hazel shrugged. "If that's the way you want to see it. At least _you _won't have to endure all the little third years talking about their first dates and who grabbed whose ass in Charms. _Ugh_."

"Of course not," Ginny retorted wryly, "I'll just be dodging curses from my favorite Slytherin."

"That's my girl." Winking, Hazel pecked her friend on the cheek before heading back down the corridor. Ginny watched her go; she didn't care what Hazel said, she'd rather listen to hours upon hours of preteen prattle than have to walk through this door. But. . . .

Heaving a great sigh, she pushed the door open . . . and there, asleep on the couch, was Theodore Nott. Sending a silent thanks to whatever deities happened to be listening, she tiptoed past the couch and into the room they were supposed to share. The bed was even larger than the one she had in her dormitory and she flopped onto it gratefully.

At least she'd have it to herself for one night.

* * *

**Pamela: -bored expression- Review. **

**Harry: -looks at her- I'm pretty sure Michelle would have like it if you'd have shown more enthusiasm.**

**Pamela: Yeah, well no one asked you, scar-head.**

**Draco:HA!**

**Pamela: Shouldn't you be off trying to win over Michy? I've heard she's thinking about going back to Remus.**

**Draco: WHAT?! -runs off-**

**Pamela: -grins- works every time. **

**Harry: Anyways, review. She expects at least 3 reviews. Until next time, stay tune!! -waves-  
**


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